


i'll be there for you (cause you're there for me too)

by MotherKarizma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Missing Persons, Misunderstandings, Oneshot, Peter Parker Meets the Avengers, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Worried Tony Stark, he rolls with it, rated for language, the rogues think peter is tony's biological son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: Afterwards, Tony made a steadfast habit of carrying that old-school mobile phone, with one purpose and one name in the contacts, around with him wherever he went. He let it burn a hole in his pocket; let it glare at him, accusatory, as he grabbed it from the nightstand each morning.He couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. Not only because he might, in a few, specifically dire scenarios, need to call upon Steve Rogers. Tony lied to himself when he claimed there was no part of him that would want to pick up on the off chance that Steve needed him.It was a truth Tony hated to acknowledge but deep down knew all the same: he owed him one.-----Or: Peter suddenly and inexplicably turns up missing. Tony, panicked and desperate, recruits the Rogues to aid in the search.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 64
Kudos: 1600





	i'll be there for you (cause you're there for me too)

Afterwards, Tony made a steadfast habit of carrying that old-school mobile phone, with one purpose and one name in the contacts, around with him wherever he went. He let it burn a hole in his pocket; let it glare at him, accusatory, as he grabbed it from the nightstand each morning.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. Not only because he might, in a few, specifically dire scenarios, need to call upon Steve Rogers. Tony lied to himself when he claimed there was no part of him that would want to pick up on the off chance that Steve needed him.

It was a truth Tony hated to acknowledge but deep down knew all the same: he owed him one.

* * *

“No dice,” Happy had said on that rainy Tuesday afternoon, face drawn and pinched in a way uncharacteristic of him but fit for their situation. “We could have FRIDAY run facial recognition through all the boroughs.”

“I have.” Tony gripped his hair tight and pulled, knuckles white. “Twice. _Fuck_.”

FRIDAY was, in fact, now set to be on constant lookout, not just in the city but in the entirety of New York State. Every bodega in Queens, every rundown upstate gas station, every edge and every crease. It was probably more than a little illegal for him to hack into hundreds of thousands of public and privatized security cameras, but when had he ever followed the rules?

Pepper laid a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to soothe, he knew, but her engagement ring burrowed into his skin and her fingers trembled. Her own shakiness betrayed a well smoothed-over panic. She’d grown attached, too. How could anyone not?

“We’ll find him, Tony,” she said with falsified composure. “He’s a smart kid. He’ll be okay.”

Tony said nothing. He pressed his palms against his temples in a vain attempt to stave off a headache as it began to pound.

* * *

Eight hours into the panic, Happy went to retrieve May.

She was, understandably, reluctant to leave the apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time her nephew stumbled through his bedroom window past curfew, mouth already poised with some half-assed excuse and a sincere apology. But it would be the first time he’d been _hours_ late. Tony knew, at that point, how implausible it was, how blindly optimistic. He suspected by the way May’s eyes were rimmed red and alight with fear when she arrived at his Manhattan penthouse that she knew it, too.

She didn’t yell or chew him out or hit him – all things Tony would have taken without complaint. He knew he damn well deserved as much. May didn’t seem to agree. Or, if she did, it went unspoken. She only stared at him with the vaguest shred of hope, which died visibly when Tony pursed his lips, shook his head, and said, “Nothing yet.”

May rocked on her heels in debate when offered a guest room. He watched in silence as she waffled between the desire to be in close proximity in case something came up and the fear that her kid would arrive home, injured and frightened, only to find himself alone. She caved to the former when Tony assured her FRIDAY would alert them at once if Peter somehow found his way back to the apartment.

Tony didn’t sleep. Couldn’t, in fact. He instead opted to suit up and search. It wasn’t much more productive than sitting on his ass – if FRI hadn’t found anything, there was no chance in hell he would – but it somehow felt it. He watched the streams of information that flowed in his peripheral as he delved into the city, but it all amounted to a whole lot of nothing.

The kid hadn’t been Spider-Man when he up and disappeared. He’d been Peter Parker, a teenager who left school one day and never came home, who showed up in the crowd on one street corner security camera and disappeared before the next, backpack abandoned in an alleyway dumpster with the suit still inside. None of his friends had heard from him. His phone was most likely destroyed, since it had suddenly become untraceable. There was no rhyme, reason, or explanation. He was just…gone.

 _He’s a smart kid,_ Pepper had told him only hours before. _He’ll be okay._

And that was the thing. He _knew_ Peter was smart. Just shy of sixteen and already weighed down with more responsibility than any teenager should theoretically be entrusted with, he was sometimes a little too smart for his own good. Which was why, when they hit the eighteen hour mark, a cold pit opened up somewhere inside of Tony to besiege him with a fact he could no longer avoid:

If Peter could get out of whatever mess he’d landed himself in unassisted, he would have by now.

* * *

If Tony could bring Peter home unassisted, safe and sound and whole–

He would have.

But he couldn’t.

To accept defeat, to lie down in the dirt and wait, was not in the cards. Not with this; not when it concerned the kid. He refused to accept Peter’s permanent disappearance as an option – and with that removed, very few options remained. Even fewer still were viable.

Tony’s stomach churned at the thought of what he was about to do. He didn’t want to. But for Peter, he would do just about anything.

Which was why, when the sun rose to shine over his sleepless night, when Pepper shot him a look of disapproval at his insistence that he was too busy for breakfast, he gave her an abridged version of the truth: “I have a phone call to make.”

She looked confused for only a second. It must have been the gravity with which he said it and the grimly set determination on his face that smoothed out the wrinkle in her brow, that let sympathy leak into her eyes.

“Tony…” she said, too soft, like he was something to be pitied, which certainly didn’t help his already wavering conviction that this was _the right choice_. He waited, but she didn’t have anything else to say. No protest or agreement. Just his name, spoken sad and knowing.

“I have to.” He wasn’t sure why he felt defensive. If Pepper disagreed with his decision, she didn’t voice it. Pepper never left her disagreement unvoiced. “I can’t just sit here. I need to find him. I need…”

_I need help._

That admission, left on the tip of his tongue, tasted bitter. He swallowed it back around the lump in his throat and rubbed a hand down his face.

Pepper nodded. “I know. Do you want me to be there?”

“I think I need to do this alone.”

“Okay.” She hesitated, opened her mouth, then closed it and nodded again. “Okay. I’ll make sure May eats something.”

“Thanks, Pep.”

She responded by way of a kiss pressed to his cheek, and then she was gone. He was alone, just as he’d asked to be, but he suddenly wished he wasn’t.

Tony went to the lab first. He spent all of two minutes sat stiff on a stool, phone clenched tight in his fist, before deciding this was not the right place to make his call if he planned to walk away with his sanity still intact. There were too many reminders of Peter. A half-done batch of web fluid, a sticky note in his chicken scratch handwriting, an old, abandoned pair of dollar store earbuds. The lack of his presence felt more and more like a physical ache the longer Tony let himself wallow in it.

His and Pepper’s room was too private a place, too personal, when it was taken into consideration the person he was about to beg for help. The kitchen, where a clearly sleep-deprived May chewed her breakfast mechanically, was not private enough.

Tony eventually settled on the balcony. Wind whistled around him. Below, the city was alive, and it didn’t feel right. How could the world keep turning while he stood frozen in time, desperate, hoping?

He staved off two separate panic attacks before working up enough nerve to press the _call_ button with a trembling thumb.

It rang three times, and he began to fear the promise of _I’ll be there_ had been silently redacted at some point in the last year, but then – “Tony. Hey.”

Steve sounded a mix between relieved, confused, and wary. Tony couldn’t even begin to compartmentalize the emotions and all their potential meanings. His name spoken in that voice, followed up by a word of such casual greeting, all but caused his brain to short-circuit.

Tony inhaled shakily, swallowed his pride, and said for Peter’s sake: “I need your help. The kid’s gone, and I have no fucking idea where he is, but I think somebody took him–“

“Wait – wait, Tony. Slow down. Start over. What’s going on?”

Tony clenched the phone impossibly tighter as his lungs tried to remember how to breathe. “The kid. We can’t find him, I can’t…I can’t find him. I need your help.”

“The kid,” Steve repeated slowly. “You mean that new recruit you brought to Germany? The one with the webs?”

“He’s not a recruit,” Tony snapped before he could stop himself. “Spider-Man stays out of global emergencies, you understand that? Don’t even imply it. Don’t even _think_ about it.”

“I wasn’t implying anything.”

The calm in Steve’s voice was deliberate, as if he was taking care not to frighten a wounded animal. Ice-cold regret coursed through Tony’s veins and chased away the last tendrils of adrenaline. His shoulders fell and his hands shook.

“Sorry,” he said. The apology tasted bitter. He wasn’t all that sorry, but he couldn’t afford to drive away what little assistance he had left in his arsenal. Not when Peter’s life hung in the balance.

“It’s okay.” And there was the sympathy again, the _pity_. Tony hated it. “You’re worried about your friend. I get it. Where was he last seen?”

That gave Tony some pause. He knew the kid’s identity would be near impossible to keep hidden from the Rogues if they were going to be of any help, but he didn’t want to come right out and say, _walking home from school – he’s fifteen, by the way._ Every minute Steve spent chewing him out for his morally sketchy decision to enlist a child would be another minute in which said child’s chances of being found alive decreased.

“Corner of Steinway and Cedar in Queens,” he finally said, which wasn’t a lie. “He was in civilian clothes. We found his belongings in a dumpster, suit included. We’re pretty sure somebody took him, but whoever it was knows what they’re doing. There’s no evidence of abduction on any of the cameras–“

Tony cut himself off mid-ramble as a sharp twinge of anxiety shot through his chest. _Whoever it was knows what they’re doing_ – he hadn’t even thought of that until the words were out of his mouth. It was a truth he’d subconsciously known, but shoved down and buried deep beneath unfounded hope.

They weren’t dealing with a case of amateur kidnapping. Nobody had contacted him with demands of ransom, and if they were going to, they would have already. The intentions of Peter’s abductor were undeniably more sinister.

There was a string of dull, muffled conversation on the other end of the line before Steve’s voice returned. “I’m putting you on speaker.”

Natasha said, “We need his real name.”

“No.”

“Tony–“

“ _No_. Final answer. Take it or leave it.”

“We can’t find him if we don’t even know who we’re trying to find,” Steve said, and _goddamn_ , Tony despised how logical and reasonable that was. “If he wasn’t suited up when he was taken, then we aren’t looking for Spider-Man. We’re looking for a civilian.”

A sudden burst of rage burned through him, turning the edges of his vision red. “And let you leak my kid’s identity to the entire world? No fucking thanks.”

There was a long pause. In the silence, Tony let his own words settle.

_My kid._

When Natasha broke the tense quiet, her voice was softer. “He’s yours?”

And what else was he supposed to do? It was probably wrong to take advantage of the misunderstanding, to let them think he and Peter were related, but it might give him an edge. He knew Steve well enough to know that if he really did have a kid of his own, if that child did turn up missing, Steve wouldn’t hesitate to aid Tony in finding them. He would insist upon it, in fact. He was obstinate like that.

Tony should have said no. “Yes. Yeah, he’s mine.”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Steve said.

“Neither did I.” The lie was smooth. Taking into account the sort of life he’d led back at the turn of the century, it couldn’t have been all that difficult to believe. “Not until all that shit was going down with the Accords. Didn’t seem like the ideal time to drop a bomb like that.”

“We’ll help,” Steve said immediately, just as suspected, and Tony exhaled a breath of relief. “But…Tony. We really need his name. You know his identity’s safe with us.”

Tony swallowed hard. “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“We’ll find him,” Nat said with too much certainty, a solemn promise they all knew she couldn’t keep. “Let us know if you think of anything else that might help. We’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead. Tony pulled the phone away from his ear, all at once numb, relieved, and full of dread. That couldn’t have been enough, his full legal name and his last known location – but tracking down impossible people was Nat’s specialty. Begrudgingly, he trusted her.

And maybe, if he was honest with himself – maybe he still trusted Steve, too. On a level of basal instinct.

Just a little.

* * *

Twenty-four hours after Peter’s initial disappearance, the phone rang. Tony scrambled to answer it, all of his nerve endings buzzing with the hope that they might have, by some miracle, found Peter already.

“Hi,” Clint Barton’s voice greeted him.

Tony blinked. “Uh. Hi?”

“Retirement’s boring,” he said by way of explanation. “How are you holding up?”

“A social call? Seriously?”

“More like a wellness check.” Clint softened. “Look: I’m a dad, too. You don’t have to put up a front. I know you’ve gotta be losing your fucking mind right now.”

Tony took a few purposely deep breaths as he mulled over the words. _Retirement’s boring._ “You’re helping them.”

“Guilty as charged. Stop dodging the question.”

“I’m…” _losing my fucking mind. Bingo._ “…okay.”

Clint made a noise of disapproval, but knew better than to press the issue. “We’re gonna find him, alright? Peter’s gonna be fine.”

The kid’s name sounded foreign from the voice of an old teammate, like two worlds that were never meant to intersect had clashed – because that was exactly what had happened.

“Where are you?” Tony could have kicked himself for not thinking to ask Steve or Nat as much. He rose, tech on the workshop table in front of him immediately forgotten. It was a meaningless project, anyway, nothing more than an unsuccessful distraction. “I’ll come help.”

“No, you won’t,” Clint said firmly. “I’m serious. Don’t even think about it. You’re way too close to this and you know it.”

He did know it. That didn’t mean he had to like it. “That’s my kid you’re looking for, Barton.”

“My point exactly. We have to think of this as a mission. There’s no room for emotion out here, not if you want him back any time soon.” Clint heaved a sigh. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid to yourself. I know they say an abducted child’s chances of being found alive drop exponentially after the first twenty-four hours, but–“

“Oh, thanks.” The sarcasm was lost in the shakiness of his voice. “Thank you, really. That makes me feel so much better.”

“–but I saw him fighting in Germany, Stark. You know how well he can handle himself. If any teenager could make it out of this in one piece, it’s yours.”

“You know how old he is, then,” Tony said, as if it was even relevant at this point.

“Yeah. We do. And letting your kid tag along in battle was a pretty shitty parenting choice, enhancements aside. But we can talk about that another time.”

Acidic guilt rushed up his throat. “You guys wouldn’t have hurt him.”

“Not intentionally,” Clint said, slow and careful. “But you should know better than anyone how messy these things can get.” Of course he did. Rhodey was living – _living,_ thank fuck – proof. “All I’m saying is, maybe you should leave him at home next time.”

At the very least, the Rogues knowing Peter’s identity offered this one small comfort. Even they weren’t heartless enough to drag a child into deadly warfare against enemies who had no qualms about killing children.

But Clint’s scolding – that stung. Mostly because he knew the man was right. If he could go back and do it all again, knowing what he knew now, he never would have brought Peter to Germany. He hadn’t known he would get so attached to the kid, though. Hadn’t really known anything about him other than his name and the fact that he was a gigantic nerd.

Now, a year in retrospect, Tony knew so much more.

He knew the kid’s favorite pizza toppings and which ones he despised. He knew that he hated the _Star Wars_ prequels. He knew Peter’s favorite way to fall asleep when insomnia struck was with his head on someone’s shoulder and a hand combing absentmindedly through his curls. Sometimes complete with an off-key hum of the _Friends_ theme song on Tony’s lips, all while Peter’s own mouth quirked into a smile and the kid murmured fondly, _you’re so weird._

“That’s a two-way street, you know,” Tony said, voice rough. “Don’t you dare call him in on anything. Ever. Not without my approval. Spider-Man isn’t a backup option.”

“Of course not,” Clint said, sounding offended by the mere implication, then paused. “Do you want us to tell him anything when we find him? Not that you won’t see him right after, but – just to calm his nerves.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. The _when_ , which could have so easily been an _if_ , was a thoughtful touch.

 _Tell him that I love him. I don’t think he knows._ “Tell him I saw that grade he got on his last Spanish quiz and I am absolutely appalled.”

That surprised a laugh out of Clint. “Will do. Take care of yourself, Stark. Peter’s gonna need you sober when he gets home.”

For that reason alone, Tony left every bottle in the kitchen untouched.

* * *

The next five days passed in a blur. Tony wished they could have been more of a blur. His fingers twitched every so often, reaching out for a shotglass that wasn’t there. But for Peter’s sake, he refrained.

That seemed to be his reasoning behind every uncharacteristically mature decision nowadays, the underbelly of it all: for Peter’s sake.

Clint made a habit of calling to check in at exactly ten each morning. Tony assumed the consistent schedule was meant to avoid setting false hope or dread alight every time the phone rang, and the morning aspect to ensure he was, in fact, actually getting out of bed. Clint’s lack of faith in him was a disappointment, but not necessarily unwarranted. On most of those long, agonized days, it really was the cursory welfare call that made him drag his feet into the kitchen, chug an entire pot of coffee, and don a brave face to check on May.

Tony grew so accustomed to the schedule that when the old brick of a phone’s ringing jolted him from a fitful sleep just past three in the morning, he _knew_.

He picked up, every muscle in his body taut. Pepper slumbered on beside him.

“We found him,” Steve said at once, and Tony braced himself for the _but_. It never came. “He’s alive.”

Tony collapsed against the pillows, overwhelmed by all the emotion he’d suppressed for nearly a week. His eyes burned. “Thank fuck. Holy _shit_. Oh my fucking God.”

“He’s injured and pretty shaken up, but he’ll be okay,” Steve continued. “He’s asleep now. We can be at the Compound in about three hours. You have a medical team ready?”

“On standby. I’ll notify them. How bad is it?”

“Not bad enough to stop him from knocking a few guards’ teeth in on the way out,” Steve said with a small, exhausted sort of laugh.

Tony couldn’t help it: he laughed, too, though his was wet and tinged with a hundred other feelings he couldn’t even begin to untangle. “Good kid.”

“He really is.”

“Did, uh – did Clint tell him? The quiz thing?”

“Yeah. He said you refused to help him cheat, so it’s actually kind of your fault.”

Tony scoffed and said shakily, “He’s a punk. You’re probably gonna get to the Compound before me. Take care of him, okay?”

“Of course.”

For the first time in six days, Tony breathed without strain.

It didn’t occur to him until after he’d woken Pepper and May, after he’d dealt with May’s burst of happy tears and abrupt hug, after he’d called Happy to bring a car around, that he’d just spoken to Steve Rogers with thankfulness and without a hint of venom for the first time in over a year.

* * *

Peter, pale but peaceful as he slept in a medical bed, turned his head over so slightly toward the direction of Tony’s hand as it moved through his freshly washed curls, careful of the angry-red stitches at his hairline. May, on the kid’s other side, was also asleep, one of her nephew’s hands clasped tight between both her own.

Tony hummed the _Friends_ theme beneath his breath without meaning to. When he caught himself, he didn’t stop.

The door opened behind him forty-five minutes into his bedside vigil. Tony didn’t want to – couldn’t, in fact – tear his eyes away from Peter long enough to see who had joined them. He was never going to take his eyes off this little shit again.

“Hey,” Clint said quietly. He rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’re about to head out. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank everyone for me,” Tony said, because in spite of everything, he knew he still couldn’t bring himself to say it to Steve’s face.

Steve, who had just rescued his kid from a HYDRA science facility. Steve, who had saved Peter Parker’s life for no reason other than his significance to Tony. Steve, who’d busted down the door right after those washed-up ‘scientists’ decided they were bored of testing blood samples and flesh healing rates, right as they prepared to slice open a perfectly conscious Peter and–

And only God fucking knew what. Tony couldn’t let himself think about it for too long, lest his cappuccino breakfast make a reappearance.

But, also – Steve, whose best friend had murdered his parents. Steve, who couldn’t have even been bothered to tell him as much until he had no other choice.

Clint seemed to understand his dilemma, at least to some degree. “I will. Try and keep your rugrat out of trouble.”

Tony huffed. “Operative word being ‘try.’”

And with that, the Rogues were gone. Tony heard their jet leave – there was no telling how they’d acquired _that_ – but he kept his eyes turned away from the windows. Plausible deniability.

In his rush to get to the Compound, he’d unthinkingly slipped the burner phone into his pocket, accustomed as he’d grown to carrying it around everywhere while he waited for Steve’s call. He felt it against his thigh now. He knew it would remain there. Out of habit, he told himself, though that was only half true.

It would remain there on the off chance that they called him, that they needed his help. Just in case.

He owed them.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked it, please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr under the same username


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